Interrogation
by Jennytheshipper
Summary: A multi-chapter fic in which Harry and Ruth explore the meaning of "interrogation."  Mostly angst, fluff and drama, with a brief scene of smut. Set vaguely between 3.3 and 3.5.  Borrowed some character names from Terrence Rattigan and Ronald D. Moore.
1. Chapter 1

Ruth had watched the tape of Sam's interrogation so often she had the time signature memorized. She discreetly took a large pair of DJ-style headphones out of the drawer and put them on. It was late. Everyone else had gone home. The familiar triangle of light from Harry's office illuminated the gloom surrounding her. She would keep one eye on his door and the other on the monitor.

She pressed play.

Harry leaned in. He grabbed Sam's chin. His voice was barely audible, but Ruth counted lip reading among the many languages in which she was proficient.

"Sam. Look at me. How many people do you think I've interrogated? Some are harder than others. Do you imagine I'll have any difficulty breaking a silly little girl like you."

Ruth winced. So patronizing. So beneath him. And yet she was undeniably attracted to him at this moment. She had spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about what she would have done were she to have traded places with Sam.

The best was yet to come. She buttoned through Zoe's part of the interrogation, stopping when Harry came back in the room with a fax.

"Tell Sam that the bar is now open."

"It's over? Och. That was so cruel." And then Sam Buxton stood up and kissed Harry Pearce. Ruth couldn't stop watching it. The look of confusion on Harry's face. The fact that this "silly little girl" had schooled Harry Pearce on the finer points of holding up to interrogation. It was deeply satisfying.

Ruth was suddenly aware that Harry was approaching. He was closing in on the angle where he could see her screen. Damn his stealth movement training. Ruth frantically moved the mouse upward and closed the window that contained the surveillance tape. The hard drive sprang to life, but since she hadn't paused the playback, it caused her screen to freeze for just a second-long enough for Harry to get an eyeful of what she was watching.

She took the headphones off sheepishly and met his gaze.

"What were you giggling about?"

"Was I giggling?" Ruth said in a panicked voice.

"Yes. And snorting, I think, at one point."

"Oh, just a joke one of my friends forwarded me. Just silly, really."

"Tell me. I could use a good laugh."

Ruth scanned her memory for a joke, but it was no use. She had nothing. Her mind had gone completely blank.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind. It was meant to be private," she said letting more of an air of pique into her voice than she had intended.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," he said and spun on his heel. As he was walking away he said over his shoulder, "Ruth. If you want to know what it is like to be interrogated by me all you need to do is ask."

Ruth suppressed an audible, "eep!" but in half a second she regretted that she didn't have the courage to take him up on it. 


	2. Chapter 2

The lights in the interrogation room were harsh. The air was hot and clammy. He could feel beads of sweat on his neck. Harry was seated in the chair. His hair was platinum, shoulder length and it fell in waves around his face. Was he wearing a wig? He tried to move his hands but they were cuffed to the arms of the chair. Ruth leaned across the table. She cupped his chin in his hands. The pain sent a surge of delight through him.

"How many men do you think I've had? Some are harder than others. Do you imagine that I would have any difficulty breaking you?"

Ruth stood up and walked over to Harry, as she moved she untucked her blouse from her skirt. She began undoing buttons. She sat down on the edge the table, lifted her right leg and placed her foot on the back of Harry's chair. The Ruth of Harry's dreams was very flexible and her skirt was a lot shorter. She pushed the chair backward and then let it fall forward again with a crash. When she did that he could look up her skirt.  
>She wasn't wearing any knickers.<p>

He gasped a little bit as she removed her blouse and let it fall to the floor. She leaned in, letting the lace of her bra graze his lips. He opened his mouth, but she pulled away before he could make contact.

"Ruth please!" He cried out. "I want you so much."

She snorted derisively. "We're all just treacherous bitches to you aren't we?"

"No. Wait. How did you know I said that?"

"It's a dream Harry. I know everything. I know about your sordid little affairs with every woman in the Service. They all just wanted your power,  
>Harry," she hissed and stood with her legs astraide the chair. She lowered herself onto his lap, allowing her thighs to touch the massive pup tent pitched in his pants.<p>

"What do you want, Ruth?"

"I your heart, Harry Pearce. All you tender little bits: your chivalry, your honor, your integrity. In short, I want your soul. And I won't give you even the smallest taste of this until I have it."

"What will you do with it, if I give it to you?"

She laughed, cruelly and said, "You aren't in any position to ask that. You are going to have to trust me."

Harry Pearce sat up stock straight in bed. He was sweating buckets and the sheets clung to him everywhere. Morning wood was an understatement for what was going on down there. His phone, set to vibrate, bouncing itself madly across the top of his bedside table.

###


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's voice sounded strange on the phone.

"Do you have any idea how late it is?" he barked.

"Early," Ruth said. "Harry, it's 7:30 in the morning."

"What? Bloody Hell!" She heard shuffling and more muffled cursing. "Sorry, Ruth, alarm fiasco. The battery is dead or something."

"I shouldn't have bothered you at home, but I thought you'd want to know. They picked up Callas last night. Adam is wondering whether you want to do the interrogation or leave it to him and Danny?"

If Ruth could have seen Harry at the moment she would have witnessed him turn alarming shades of pink and red. The word "interrogation" wasn't entirely innocent to her either, given their encounter the night before. She bit her lip, wondering what was happening on the other end of the line.

"Harry are you there?"

"Tell them to go ahead as usual. Give me a few minutes to sort myself out. I'll be in by 8:30."

Ruth said good-bye and hung up quickly. Adam had returned from the cells. He looked impatient.


	4. Chapter 4

Mornings were always hectic on the grid. There was the daily report to get out and the briefing. With the suspect, Callas, in house, Section D

was abuzz with extra guards, heavies from Special Branch, and their minders. Catherine Winslow waited outside Harry's office. She was a heavyish woman in her early forties. She wore her blond hair in a sassy bob which she occasionally fluffed with one of hand as a calming gesture. A receptionist offered Mrs. Winslow tea for the third time.

Harry still had not hit the pods yet. It was almost 9:00 a.m. It was unlike him to be late for any reason and the alarm clock excuse just seemed so wonky. His voice had been strange on the phone. Ruth wondered whether she should ring Harry's driver to make sure everything was alright. She was just searching out the number in her contacts list when she heard the familiar hiss of the pods. She looked up and was relieved to see Harry standing there, dressed nattily, looking as cool and commanding as ever. He took Catherine Winslow's outstretched hand and apologized cordially. Ruth smiled and shook her head at the ease at which Harry could win a woman round with a tenth of the available reservoir of Pearce charm. She ducked behind her monitor before anyone caught her staring. That report wasn't going to write itself.

###

Harry paced round the conference table while the team filed in and seated themselves.

"Interrogation," he said. Ruth dug her nails into her hands. Concentrate, Evershed, she thought.

"In the old days we'd just pump you full of Sodium Pentothal and leave you in a dark room until you talked. New times call for new methods. I've just met with Catherine Winslow, a liason from Human Rights Watch. We will be in touch with her at the end of every day. There will also be a detailed report submitted to her organisation at the end of the process."

"How are we supposed to do our jobs; get the information with bleeding hearts like her hanging around?" Adam complained.

"GCHQ feels a certain number of lawsuits can be prevented by keeping these groups in the loop. I'm rather inclined to agree on this one. We don't want any Abu Ghraibs in Britain. No one is going to cry 'torture.' Not on my watch."

"Our hands are tied as it is," Adam said. Harry hoped he didn't blush at Adam's ill-chosen choice of terms. Concentrate, Pearce, he thought.

"We've had this guy six hours and he hasn't spoken two words," Adam said. "He's not going to be an easy one to crack as it is."

"Keep softening him up. Ruth what do we have on Callas' background that could help Adam?"

"Sadly, not much. Local Face from Shoreditch, but born in France. Has lived in the UK since he was a teenager. Parents are back in France. Estranged, from him and from each other. He has an aunt here, but they aren't close. His crew runs drugs from North Africa with a sideline in small arms."

"And if it weren't for the fact that they recently came into a dirty bomb which they're flogging to the highest bidder, this would be Scotland Yard's headache," Danny added ruefully.

"Ruth," Harry said, "get in touch with GCHQ and see what information on the parents they can pry out of Six."

"It's already done. I have the file here," Ruth said, and stood up to switch on the projector.

"As usual, you've anticipated my every whim," Harry said.

Adam and Fiona gave one another a sidelong glance. They had a running bet about how long it would be before Ruth and Harry were announced as an item. The flirting had been getting more noticeable all the time.

Had Ruth not had her back not been to the room, the whole team would have seen her grinning with joy at Harry's comment.

Guy Callas came up on the monitor. He was handsome, with olive skin and shoulder length hair, that curled softly around his ears. He was well-dressed in the photo, wearing a trendy, slim suit. His eyes were the definition of beady: hard, small and black.

"The Father Albert is a French National, served in the French Foreign Legion. His mother, Christine, comes from a small enclave of French-speaking Catholics in Algeria, left before the revolution. Whatever else, he may be Guy Callas is no Islamic radical."

"In it for the money, then?" Danny wondered.

"Possibly. Or the danger and the status," Harry offered.

"Why the move to the UK without the parents?" Adam asked.

"He was arrested several times for gang activity in Paris," Ruth said. "Perhaps the parents thought a change of scene and stricter schools would help. He attended several boarding schools, but washed out of all of them. He's made his living as a drug mule and professional party animal ever

since."

"We've been hitting the finance all day," Danny reported. "His accounts were pretty dismal when we got to them. Lives to spend what he makes and then some, apparently. No foreign accounts that we can find. We've offered bribes but so far he's not taking. Whoever they've got on the line for this bomb must have deep pockets."

"Ruth, can you check into possible buyers for the bomb?" Adam asked. "Entrances into the country from known weapons buyers. Big fish only."

"What about a rap sheet? Anything?" Fiona asked.

"Amazingly, little given his chosen lifestyle," Ruth said. "One arrest for a small amount of cocaine in a nightclub. Another arrest for prostitution."

"Can't the police just bring in the whole lot for drugs?" Malcolm asked.

"There isn't time," Harry replied. "Intelligence says the deal with this bomb is happening in the next week. The Yard are in a months-long

investigation of these creeps. Massive waste of public resources if we blunder in there and pull the lot without the evidence to put them away."

"There's one more thing," Ruth interjected. "Callas is something of a pimp. He has several girls working for him out of a club in Shoreditch. One of them was with him last night when Callas was arrested. She's spent the night courtesy of Her Majesty at the Shoreditch nick. She's due to be released today."

"Ruth," Adam said, "we'll need you to go over to Shoreditch and interview the girl before they spring her." Ruth looked surprised and worried at the assignment.

"But the buyers...there's a lot of photo recognition to do and then there's the potential-"

"Malcolm can run photos for now. Danny and I are doing the interrogation. Fi is going to be the aunt's new best friend," Adam said with a wink to his wife. "Sorry, love, looks like it's the Southwark Public Library book club for you. Don't forget to put on your best track suit."

Fiona beamed back at her husband. Ruth hoped no one noticed the little eye roll she gave. They were so cute those two, but, really there was a time and place!

"Ruth," Harry said, "can I see the rest of the file you brought over from Six?"

"That's it, Harry," she said handing him an anemic folder containing two sheets of paper and a couple of photographs.

Harry took the folder. He creased his brow. There was something about the face of Albert Callas that was familiar.

"If that's everything," he said, "get started, people. Ruth can you stay behind a moment?"

Adam and Fiona left the conference room first, but not before giving each other one more knowing glance. After the others left, Harry shut the door.

"You looked worried about this assignment."

"It's just that I've never been to one of those places before."

"Prisons, Ruth. We generally call them prisons. You'll be quite safe. You'll be posing as an aid worker. A very simple operation. You'll go in with a questionnaire. Try to work in a few questions about Callas, find out anything you can about his personality or background that we can use against him."

"I know the op, I'm just nervous is all. How do you—did you—handle the nerves?"

"The secret is to get in character. You're just an aid worker. What would an aid worker have to be nervous about? You're bored, underpaid and over-worked. You're sympathetic to the plight of the masses but harried and exhausted. You should be able to find something from your own life to use," he said with a smile.

Ruth frowned. "Alright, I'll give it a go. Lying doesn't come naturally to me, though."

"It only comes naturally to compulsives and sociopaths, Ruth. The rest of us have to cultivate the skill. I think it's important to put the truth in the lie. If you can convince yourself, you can convince anyone."

"Right: Truth in the lie. Convince myself. Get in character. I did some acting in school, perhaps it's similar?"

"What did you play?"

"Nothing you would have heard of. I wasn't exactly the lead-more like woman who sells vegetables alongside Eliza Doolittle. That sort of thing."

"I should very much like to play Henry Higgins to you, Ruth. I could make you a star spook."

Ruth gave him a confused smile. Did he remember that Henry Higgins ends up loosing his heart to Eliza? That, in the end, she teaches him? She packed up her papers and started to leave.

"One more thing," Harry said. "Ring me as soon as you're finished in Shoreditch."

Ruth nodded, puzzled, but pleased that her boss, whom she fancied rotten, was taking such a keen interest in her.


	5. Chapter 5

Interrogation 5

Ruth sat in a counseling room at the prison -a mauve and gray remnant of the Thatcher years, with walls bearing the scars of decades of thumbtacks and inspirational posters. She re-read her questionnaire for the fourth time in as many minutes as she waited for Gina Halford to be shown into the room. She did her best to calm her nerves but she was feeling anything but exhausted or bored what with the adrenaline from the op as well as the excitement and mystery of Harry's requested call. She tried to remind herself that it was probably only something about work, but she couldn't help it. She had to get this crush of hers under control. She was starting to spend her days off wondering what Harry was up to and what sort of mood he'd been in when next she saw him.

There was a quiet knock. "Come in" Ruth said and one of the matrons poked her head through the door followed by a small, blond woman in flimsy sleeveless black wrap dress. Ruth offered Gina a cup of tea which the woman accepted gratefully. Her clothes didn't offer her much protection and it was chilly in the room.

"Would you like a blanket or perhaps you can borrow my coat? It's freezing in here." Ruth said and smiled, doing her best to infuse her look with stretched-thin sympathy.

"No, thanks," Gina said quietly. Ruth poured her a cup of tea and took the opportunity to study her over. She was very thin and had dark circles under her eyes. Ruth wondered if she was using drugs.

As they began on the form, Gina answered the questions, in a sleepy monotone. After establishing her name and address, Ruth asked about her reason for her arrest.

"I've been over all this with the old Bill."

"Yes, and I can read their report. I'm here to try to help make sure that you get the proper services so that you don't wind up in here again. To do so I need you to cooperate."

"I've got nothing to add that you can't read in that report. I was leaving the club with Guy and up walks this plain clothes cop. He shoves Guy in a van and me, I get taken to the nick, done for solicitation. End of story."

"Right. Guy, Mr. Callas, he is a friend of yours? A boyfriend?"

"You could say that. We go out once in a while."

"Gina, the police suspect Mr. Callas of operating a prostitution ring out of the club. You've admitted that you were with Mr. Callas. That was witnessed by several people in the club. A police informant says Mr. Callas had arranged for you to spend some time with several patrons of the club later that night in Mr. Callas' flat."

"Yeah, we hung out and we made plans to meet up with some of his mates later."

"Does Mr. Callas ever give you drugs?"

"What is this? I already had one interrogation today. "

"If you are using narcotics, we can help. But you need to talk to me first. Nothing in this interview is admissible in court. Think of me…think of me like a doctor, Miss Holford."

"Yeah, he gave me drugs," Gina blurted out. Ruth was surprised that she had admitted it so quickly. The police had found her less cooperative. Ruth realized that Gina really believed that Ruth was just an aid worker. The lie made her feel bad and yet gave her confidence to go forward, pushing a little harder.

"Does Mr. Callas ever give you drugs in return for sex with him or anyone else?"

Gina didn't answer. Ruth noticed that there were tears in the woman's eyes.

"It sounds so bad when you say it. It was no big deal, really. Just casual. The blokes were all mates of his. We partied together anyway. Sometimes things would get out of hand and wild. Guy always knew how to keep the party going. No one ever made me do anything I didn't want to. Not really—" she broke off. Ruth handed her a tissue and used the opportunity to put her hand on the woman's hand. The bony hand was clammy and cold and surprisingly frail. Gina smiled and said thank you. Ruth took her hand away, and went back to her form.

"Are you aware of Mr. Callas having a similar 'casual' relationship with other women?"

"No. I don't know, really. At the end of the day, he's just a mate really. We're not that close and I don't know who else he parties with when I'm not there."

"But you ARE there most nights according to the management of the club. So if Mr. Callas associates with other women in public, you should know."

"Yeah, there may be a few others. I don't know their names or anything."

"You wouldn't be protecting these women by hiding their names from me. I can't do anything about it anyway. I'm merely trying to establish the situation. Up and Out of Prostitution has been a very successful organization for us and I'm going to give you their-."

"What? No! I said I knew he partied with other women. You're twisting my words."

"Miss Halford exchanging drugs for sexual favors is prostitution. You may not be standing on a street corner in fishnet tights but you have been engaging in prostitution. If you don't want to be a regular here at Shoreditch Station, then I suggest you take the card and give the woman a call. This is a group of people who have all been in a similar situation themselves. No one is here to judge you."

Ruth stopped. She'd gone too far. Gina's shoulders were shaking, her head buried in her hands. She waited a few moments until the cries had subsided.

"Would you be willing to give me the first names of the other women that Guy knows?" Ruth asked quietly. Gina nodded. Ruth handed her another tissue and she blew her nose. Gina gave her three names and Ruth dutifully wrote them down on the forms.

"I'll make sure that Up and Out of Prostitution knows about these other women. They will be in touch. It will be discreet and your name will never come into to it. I'll also put you in touch with a narcotics anonymous support group."

"Thanks," Gina said quietly. "Miss? Do you know what is going to happen to Guy?"

Ruth had prepared herself for this question with a stock answer but suddenly she felt that was the wrong thing.

"I don't know. I could look into it if you would like. You said he was put in a van. Do you know where they took him?"

"No. The whole thing was dodgy if you ask me. Why send us to two separate places?"

Ruth was annoyed that special branch had been too obvious with the arrest. Why not separate them quietly at the police station, rather than on the street in front of witnesses?

"That does sound irregular. I will look into it. I'll give you my card as well and you can phone me if Guy doesn't turn up after you are released. The cell phone number you gave me earlier is current?"

"Not exactly," Gina said sheepishly. "I think it might be switched off." She proceeded to give Ruth her real phone number.

Ruth was pleased that she had done so much better than the police who were pros at interrogation. Maybe Harry was right, after all. Maybe she was a star spook. Don't let one little victory get to your head, Evershed, she thought. You're no Zoe Reynolds or Fiona Carter. You're sitting in a room with a defenseless woman who's been kept up all night by the police. Anyone with a willing ear probably could have wrung this information out of her.

After Gina left, Ruth pulled out her cell phone and called her boss.

###


	6. Chapter 6

"Ruth, just the person whose voice, I was longing to hear. " Harry said over the phone. His voice sounded syrupy and charming. Ruth was puzzled. His usual phone manner was gruff and impersonal, bordering on rude at times.

"Harry? You haven't been kidnapped and given some kind of drug have you? You sound very strange."

Harry laughed. Ruth was certain she detected a note of genuine feeling in it.

"Ruth, I'm at my club. I wondered if you would join me for lunch, presuming you don't have plans already?"

"Um. Nooo. Unless you count eating some of Adam's left-over sandwiches as a plan."

He laughed again. "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then. Where are you, darling? I'll send my driver to fetch you, immediately."

"Harry you know I'm in Shoreditch. You sent me here yourself. Will you kindly tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Great! See you in about a half an hour. You won't be put off if I go ahead and order a drink without you. I'm parched and Mr. Mace was kind enough to offer."

So that was it. Ruth's call was a "get-out clause." While she was grateful to have at least some of Harry's odd behavior explained away, she couldn't help but be a little disappointed that it wasn't a real lunch date.

"See you soon. Darling." She said with special emphasis on the last word. If she knew Harry, he was probably turning purple with embarrassment on the other end of the phone. Good , she thought to herself. If I'm to play the beard, I might as well enjoy myself.


	7. Chapter 7

Ruth stepped out of the black Audi and shut the door. She approached the door of Harry's club tentatively. She'd never been inside this place or anything like it.

"Miss Evershed? Mr. Pearce is expecting you in the dining room," said a doorman. He approached her and held and umbrella over her head. It was starting to rain.

Ruth followed the man into the lobby of the club. She deposited her coat and briefcase in a cloak room. The head waiter, an ancient man wearing a sagging tuxedo, led her to the dining room. She kept looking around to make sure Barmy Fatheringay Phipps wasn't going to throw a bun at her. Harry and Oliver Mace were sitting together at a small table. Seeing her approach, the men stood up.

"I'll leave you to it, then Harry," Mace said with a wink. "Miss Evershed, if you'll excuse me." He nodded to her and retreated quickly across the dining room back to the bar. Ruth noticed that he could still see their table.

Harry smiled and whispered to her, "thanks for doing this. You're a star. I knew I could count on you."

She felt flushed as he spoke to her. She always did whenever he had something to say that was just for her.

He pulled out her chair and took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. Ruth felt her knees wobble a bit. She was relieved to be able to sit.

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" she said through smiling gritted teeth.

"There's such a thing as having your cake and eating it too. You should try it sometime."

Ruth was dumbfounded. Did he consider this, in some small way, a real date?

"I'll save my cake for pudding" she said trying to flirt. What the hell was that, Evershed? She thought. Just do like your mum told you and be yourself. Wait. Was this a date? Should she be giving herself a first-date pep talk?

Harry handed her a menu. She wondered whether she should pull out all the stops for Mace's benefit-the cold lobster salad and champagne. Her eyes rested on the raised pork pie. That would really hit the spot. Cold lobster on a rainy day didn't really appeal other than in the glamor department.

Harry studied his menu. He was longing for the ploughman's but he didn't want Ruth to think she couldn't order big. He started to steel himself for the inevitable lobster salad. He hoped it wouldn't be rubbery. He hated when the lobster was rubbery.

The waiter approached. "I'll have the pork pie," she said, "and a glass of port. Harry could you recommend a port?"

Harry beamed at her with real affection. He loved to be asked about booze. It was one of his favorite topics. If she was getting the pork pie, he could get the ploughman's.

"Graham's is nice, I always think," he said and the waiter nodded.

After asking about the cheese, which the waiter assured him was a genuine Cotswold, Harry ordered his ploughman's and a pint of bitter.

"How did you get on in Shoreditch?" he asked.

"I think I made out rather well. Got her to admit that Callas was her pimp. Even got the first names of the other girls in his ring."

"Good, girl. "

"Harry, there's something I wanted to bring up with you; a matter of policy. It appears Special Branch made a scene of the arrest. The girl knew that Callas wasn't taken to the same station. It made her suspicious. I offered her my phone number and promised to look into it."

"It gets better and better. You clearly have a knack for field work, Ruth."

"What do I say if she rings me?"

"You stall, but you try to get her talking about Callas. Find out whatever you can about him. I'll talk to Special Branch about their methods. It's a miracle you got anything out of her at all after that blunder. "

"If I may ask, what have you been up to with, Oliver Mace?"

"Oh, I had a little chat with Mr. Mace about that phony file he tried to palm off on us. I knew Albert Callas' face looked familiar. Ruth, he's an asset. It was years ago, but I'm sure I remember being in a couple meetings with the man. "

"What did Mace say?"

"Oh he denied, blustered, 'you surely can't expect me to keep track of every bloody file in MI-6'," Harry said doing a reasonable impression of his colleague.

"What should we do?" Ruth asked.

"We? I was rather hoping you could sort this out. Any ideas?"

"Well, there's the GCHQ crypt. I haven't been down there in a while, but I'm on a first name basis with the crypt keeper?"

"The crypt?"

"That's what we call the duplicate personel files department. There is a back-up hard copy of all the files. If Callas was on the payroll, he'll be in the crypt."

"No slime trail back to us. Think you can manage that."

"I think I can manage."

"Now about this crypt keeper, how well do you know him?" Harry said with a touch of jocularity.

"Oh we go way back. "

"An ex?" Harry said with a flash of jealousy.

"More of a paramour," Ruth said, teasing. "I don't really do exclusive relationships," she said, playing the Mata Hari to the hilt.

Realizing she was teasing, Harry smiled. "Where do I come in then?"

Ruth was uncertain how to answer. He was joking, she was sure, but he might also want to know how she felt about him.

"A friend with potential."

"I like the sound of that," he said.

"And what about me? " she asked taking a big swig of port to help with the bravery.

"Would you care for some pudding? Cake perhaps?"

"Harry, don't change the subject. I gave you an honest answer. I expect one from you and all."

"You've discovered the key to interrogation, Ruth. Give and take. To break someone you need to figure out their deepest desire and convince them that only you can give it to them. "

"And what is your deepest desire?" she asked feeling a little giddy.

"Oh, no. It doesn't work like that. You have to sus me out. Then convince me that you're doing me a favor by wringing this information out of me. "

"What if I think I already know what your deepest desire is?"

"Then you should dangle some bait and see if I take it."

"I will tell you where I went last week, all dressed up, with lipstick, after work?"

"What business is that of mine where you go with your lipstick in off hours?" he asked, but she could tell he was dying to know.

"Because that cab I got in after work that night was one of your spook taxis. Not a coincidence. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Oh course, I knew you'd notice. I was just looking out for you. You can't be too careful."

"And you can't trust someone to have a private life without betraying you."

"It's not like that at all, Ruth. At the end of the day, I'm a bloke. I'm not some knight in shining armor. I am also a bloke who access to every conceivable kind of information."

"So you did spy on me? I'm sure you know then that I was meeting a man."

He was quiet and his face began to burn.

"I didn't know. But thank you for coming clean. Are you going to need any vetting services?" he asked bitterly.

"No. I don't plan on seeing him again. It was just a casual thing," she said, recalling Gina's words from earlier in the day.

She had taken the game too far. He was wounded. He turned away and looked out the window. She could see he was hurt and the fact that he was hurt meant that he hadn't checked where she was going, only that she had arrived safely.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't meet a man that night. I met my friend Susan, who dragged me to this miserable speed dating night. I didn't meet anyone nice. I came home early. Susan drove me. "

Harry didn't speak. He just kept looking out the window. Ruth grew desperate to make him talk.

"Don't do this Harry. I was teasing. Just playing along. Having my cake etc."

"It's alright Ruth. You've just discovered another truth about interrogation. It's a sordid business. No one gets out of it with a clean conscience. "

Ruth reached out and placed her hand tentatively on Harry's. The gesture reminded her of her encounter with Gina earlier in the day. She had wanted to be interrogated by Harry Pearce. She'd fantasized about it for weeks. Now it had happened and she'd even bested him, but she felt miserable.

Harry shifted his gaze from the window to her eyes. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and motioned to the waiter, to bring the bill for him to sign.

"Back to work, then?" Ruth said, relieved that things appeared to be returning to normal.

"For me, yes. For you, my star spook, I have another assignment."

###


	8. Chapter 8

The rain had picked up. Harry stepped out and opened a massive umbrella. Ruth dug madly through her briefcase and pulled out a trusty old compact umbrella. She hit the button and the miserable little thing sprang out, with one spine poking through the fabric.

"I guess it's time to get a new one," she said

"Mine's big enough to share," He said, doing his best not to look smug. He took Ruth's umbrella and handed it to the doorman. Ruth sidled up alongside him and they began to walk. It was bucketing down and the wind was blowing the rain at angle. In a few moments, Ruth's arm was drenched and she could feel water seeping through her trench coat. Harry grabbed Ruth's shoulder with his free arm and pulled her close to him. Ruth felt the warmth of his body, surge through hers. They walked down the street with their footsteps in synch and Ruth felt as though she were floating.

"We'll just go past this window and give Mace an eyeful," Harry said steering Ruth down a side street past the dining room side of the club.

"Why all this trouble to put on a show for Mace?" She asked.

"In the first place, I wasn't about to have lunch with that bastard. He talks about nothing but cricket and he always leaves me with the check. And more importantly, If he thinks I'm off canoodling with you he won't suspect that we are really digging up the goods on the mysterious Albert Callas."

Ruth smiled at the word "canoodling." She definitely would have preferred to spend the afternoon canoodling with Harry Pearce than sitting on a train for GCHQ. At the corner they were faced with a veritable stream that over-topped the gutters. They paused.

"On three," Harry said and began to count. They jumped together to get over the water. Ruth laughed.

"There's another one," she said pointing and they jumped that one without even counting.

Before she knew it, they were standing in front of the train station. Harry turned to face her.

"Hold this," he said and handed her the umbrella. He adjusted her coat a bit so that it kept the water out. Ruth was starting to sway slightly. She'd only had one glass of port but she felt tipsy. He's going to kiss me now she thought. She blinked slowly, hoping that when she opened her eyes they would be kissing. She waited a few more moments but nothing happened. They stood listening to the rain beat on the top of the umbrella, each leaning imperceptibly closer to the other, hoping the other would give a signal that it was right to proceed.

"Thanks for lunch," Ruth said at last. "Even though it was just a 'get out clause,' I still enjoyed myself."

"I had a nice time too."

She handed the umbrella back to him and in doing so there fingers were entangled momentarily. Please God, let there be some canoodling, Ruth thought. Harry's mind was a blank. He used all the self-control from his dwindling supply to resist the urge grab her and shove his tongue down her throat. Walk away, Pearce, walk away now while you still can, he told himself.

"See you back at the office, Ruth," Harry said and handed the umbrella to her.

"No, Harry, it's bound to let up."

"Take it. You can give it back to me later," he said, pulling up his collar against the rain. He walked quickly away, half running really. Ruth stood and watched as he moved farther down the street. Even after he was gone, she still stood there. It was stupid. Was she expecting him to turn around and run back to her in the pouring rain. This wasn't a Bronte novel.

Back at Thames House, Harry stood drenched in the lobby.

"Wet day, Mr. Pearce. It's not like you to forget your umbrella," said the guard on the door.

Harry grunted something and moved mechanically toward the Grid. He stopped in the washroom and ran a towel over his sodden brow, studying his soggy reflection in the mirror. Why hadn't he acted? What pushed him away at the last moment? He knew he could trust her. What then? Surely not career? Surely not the ghosts of old spook girlfriends past? Ruth was different. He knew that. Even his subconscious knew it. Apart from having very strange ideas about his hair, his dream self was spot on.

It must have been the timing. To start things out as part of a charade like that was wrong. If you lie from the start, you'll never find the truth. No, it had to be official. He needed to phone her up and ask her on an honest to God proper date.

###


	9. Chapter 9

Fiona saw the message prompt in the lower corner of her computer monitor. She reluctantly opened it.

"He wants to infiltrate her safe house! "

She stifled a laugh and typed a message back and hit "reply."

"She's gonna drop a dirty bomb on him."

She couldn't see Adam's face but she heard him snort and then pretend it was a sneeze, followed by clack of his fingers on the keyboard . A few seconds later the message prompt lit up again.

"He's all up in her realm. Defending it."

She was just taking a sip of tea. She started to choke and began coughing uncontrollably.

"No making me laugh when I'm drinking tea!" she typed when she'd gotten ahold of herself.

The pods hissed open and Harry walked in, soaked to the bone. He headed to his office and shut the door as unceremoniously as possible. A few moments later he shut his blinds.

"Where's his umbrella?" came the message from Adam.

"Ruth must have it. He bloody loves that umbrella." She replied.

Danny returned from Interrogation One.

"Any luck?" Adam asked.

"Nothing. I've offered the most I possibly can and even a bit, I'd probably have to take out of the coffee fund, but he's not budging. It's weird."

"I would have thought an Eastend Face would have taken the money about five hours back," Adam said.

"Something about this doesn't add up," Danny said. "I'm going to ask Harry if he had any luck with Mace."

"Good luck with that," Adam said with a wink in Fiona's direction.

###

The interior of the train smelled of damp and sweat. Ruth flopped herself heavily into a seat. She still felt flushed from her encounter with Harry. She looked at her watch. If everything went to plan and she made her connection she would get into GCHQ about four, which was enough time to get to the crypt. She prepared an excuse in case she did run into someone from her old job. She wanted to go over the finer points of it, but her mind kept flitting backing to Harry, the way he leaned toward her, the warmth on her back from his arm.

She was really in deep now. It was one thing to have a crush on her boss, another to sit and moon about him, counting the hours till she saw him again. She touched his umbrella, smiling. She knew she'd have to give it back to him, but it was nice to have it with her on this little mission. She could face almost anything carrying Harry's umbrella. Maybe she wouldn't say lost it and keep it secretly. No, that was creepy. She'd have to give it back. She held it up like a pool cue and made a little practice shot with it. You could really do some damage with this, she thought and she wondered if that's why Harry carried it. She mused that perhaps the handle pulled out into a sword. That would be awesome. She examined it carefully and gave the handle a sharp tug. Nope, it was just a regular old umbrella. Still, you could really do some damage with it.

###

Harry pulled the blinds shut in his office. He removed his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. He always kept a freshly laundered shirt in his drawer for emergencies. A pretentious thing he'd read in an inflight magazine, but it had saved him on many occasions. As he removed his cufflinks, he thought of the way he'd felt when Ruth had touch his hand and admitted she hadn't gone on out to meet a man the other night. He had played that one just perfectly: the wounded look. It helped that he actually felt it. The line between spook and man was always blurred, even with Ruth.

His wet shirt was lying on the desk and he was half-way into the clean one, when the knock came at the door. Bloody hell, he thought. If someone was going to walk in on him half-dressed, he wanted it to be Ruth, but she was half-way to Cheltenham by now. "Five minutes!" he shouted and whoever it was went away.

###

The train swayed. The windows were streaked with rain. The damp countryside blurred passed. Ruth's eyelids grew heavier. She opened the window hoping the fresh air would revive her. She bought a cup of tea and sipped it, hoping caffeine and sugar would counter-act the heavy lunch, the wine and let's face it, the narcotic effect of Harry Pearce. In desperation she set an alarm on her watch for 3:45, just in case she did drift off. If she gave herself permission to fall asleep, maybe she wouldn't actually feel so sleepy.

###

Harry glanced at his watch as he pulled open his blinds. She'd be back about 7:30 or 8:00. He willed the hours to go faster for his own sanity. He began to strategize who he would ask her. He saw Danny approaching his door. The expression on the young agents face told the whole story. No joy. He must have been the one who'd knocked. Well, by 8:00 they would either have something out of Callas or they wouldn't. Thoughts of asking Ruth on a date would have to wait for another time.

###

There was a bright unpleasant light in Ruth's eyes. She struggled to focus. A figure loomed over her, in the shadows, but she couldn't see who it was. She squinted and turned away. She recognized the room as Interrogation One. He grabbed her chin, hard moved her face so that it was pointing toward the light.

"I'll repeat the question, Ruth, in case you didn't hear me the first five times," The voice was unmistakable, but she still couldn't see his face.

"Harry? What are you doing? You're hurting me?"

"I simply want to know, what you think you're playing at?" He said calmly, leaning forward.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was playing at anything," she said defiantly raising her eyes to his. Harry held her transfixed in his gaze and for a long moment, neither of them breathed. His face was so full of desire and something, else, fear, perhaps.

"Why don't you just kiss me, already?" she said.

"I'm doing the interrogation here."

"Yeah? Well, I think I have a right to know what's going on in that brain of yours. Do you fancy me or not?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the hold up?"

"The hold-up is, Miss Evershed, I need to know how you feel about me?"

"I fancy you rotten, sir." she said. He smiled and released her chin. She sighed.

"What is it now?" he asked.

"I was really sure you were going to kiss me, just then."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes!" she said with somewhat more force than she'd planned.

He reached out and grabbed her chin again, less brutally, but still firmly enough that Ruth couldn't move her face if she wanted to. She didn't want to.

He leaned toward her. It was finally going to happen. Their lips connected, Ruth kept her eyes open, half sure this apparition would disappear if she closed them.

Love in dreams is often maddeningly indistinct, just an impression of desire, a pleasant sensation somewhere in the genitals. Things became very specific for Ruth as she slept with her head curled against her jacket, her hand still gripping Harry's umbrella.

Harry grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, leaning her against the cool cement wall. It was all a bit like being frisked except she was turned the wrong way round as his hand moved over her blouse, pulling up the fabric and exploring around under her top. Her nipples burned with pleasure.

She kissed Harry harder, biting his lip a little, tasting blood. She resisted the powerful urge to tear his clothes off. She wanted to play the helpless prisoner a little longer. He dropped to his knees. That was a surprise. Ruth gripped his ears and gently mashed his face against her pelvis. She could feel his breath through the thin fabric of her skirt. He reached up, tickling the soft flesh of inner thigh, tracing the edge of the elastic of her panties. He briefly plunged his fingers in, feeling the moisture there and the pulsing of her clitoris. He pulled away and she groaned.

"Harry, please. I want you so much."

"No more games, then, darling."

"Just one more, please."

"Alright then," he said and stood up leaning the full weight of his body against hers. There was the warmth she'd felt in the rain, moving pleasantly though her whole body, transferring between them. The warmth built to a fiery intensity as Ruth's hands moved down Harry's back, feeling the curve of muscles through his coat. She reached her hands up under the collar of his jacket and pushed upward. He wriggled out of it and it fell to the floor. So many buttons, she thought as she considered his waistcoat, and his shirt. She began undoing them, but they were small and tightly fitted in their button holes.

"Damn your excellent tailor," she said as she pushed his waistcoat to the floor at last. She undid the cufflinks quickly and then paused when she got to the shirt. Where were the buttons? They just weren't there and yet the shirt was closed, fast.

"A hidden placket" he said apologetically.

"What century are you living in, Harry Pearce, that site of your buttons might offend me?" she rasped. She reached up under his shirt and teased the buttons from their button holes. There was a Saville Row shirtmaker that was going to get an angry letter her from her, she thought as undid the last one. She made short work of the belt, the trouser button and the zip. He sort of sprang out at her, a pup tent in his boxers. Another pleasant surprise she thought as she took him in her hand.

Ruth became aware of a shrill noise in her ears. The wall of Interrogation One melted away to the interior of a British Rail car, shabby, and empty save Ruth and her beeping wrist watch.

"Damn you and your buttons, Harry Pearce." she said aloud. She blushed and laughed when she realized she still had a death grip on that blasted umbrella.


	10. Chapter 10

Ruth swung open the heavy door to the GCHQ Archive and took in the slight musty smell of tons of old paper, an aroma the filtration system and the steel cabinets could never quite contain.

"Well, well look what the proverbial cat dragged in," said a familiar voice. Ruth's involuntarily stiffened and she forced a weak smile.

"Steve. So good to see you. It's been ages."

"Too long. I thought you got booted up to the city. What brings you back down here to the netherworld, my fair Persephone?"

Ruth stifled the urge to groan at Steve's cheesy references. She needed his help and for that, she knew she'd have to flirt. Just a little. She noticed his comb-over had become even more elaborat since she left GCHQ. She hoped Harry appreciated the things she did for him.

"Well, Vulcan my dear, I've just been sent down for a brief stay, I'm afraid."

"Indeed. Well, what can I do you for?"

"Nothing interesting. A new hire isn't working out. We already sent the search files back here and I've been sent to round them up." Ruth said with a sigh. It was her cover story she'd worked out on the train. Since all applications were kept for future reference but not added to the searchable database it was a plausible reason for her to return to the archive. To prevent herself from making such a trip, she'd made a file of all the contact information of the last employee search Section D had carried out. Now she was making the trip for an entirely different reason. She knew that if Six were keen to keep Harry's nose out of their business they would have pulled Albert Callas' personnel file, but they might not have thought to pull the record of his application to the service, which would at least allow her to verify Harry's feeling that he was an asset.

She handed Steve a list of names that she'd written down on the train.

They were all common surnames, with popular first initials. The only one which mattered was "Carlton, J." which should be in the same drawer as

Albert Callas.

Steve began unlocking drawers and pulling files, never taking his eyes off Ruth for more than a second or two. "Is that Paterson, a Tom or Tobias?"

"Tina, actually," Ruth answered.

"There's no Tina. Are you sure?"

"We don't get that many female applicants for CO19. I wouldn't forget that."

"No luck. I'll move on and come back."

Steve finished the list and handed the stack of files to Ruth.

"I'll just scan these. Maybe Tina's file is misplaced in another section?" She suggested. Steve nodded and moved around behind a large bank of file cabinets. Ruth tip-toed back to the file bank reached over the counter for the drawer with Callas' file. Steve had left it slightly open but she couldn't quite reach it. She picked up Harry's umbrella and snagged the curved handle under the edge of the drawer. She located "Callas, Albert." There was another file marked "Callas, Guy" which she grabbed as well. She shoved both files into her briefcase and walked quickly back to the scanner. The feeder was just finishing the first stack. Instead of sending them on to herself, she deleted the slime trail.

"There's no Tina Peterson in any other section."

"Not to worry. It's possible her file never made it back here. She was on the shortlist for the job. It's probably just misplaced. I'm sure someone can contact her and we'll get a new copy of her CV. Thanks, anyway Steve."

"It's almost quitting time. Fancy a drink?"

"I'd love to but I have a train to catch."

"Hot date? I'm jealous."

"Not exactly. Work. No rest for the wicked."

"Like I said: sounds like a hot date."

Ruth forced a laugh and returned the stack of dummy files to Steve. She made her way out of the building as fast as she could, before the mad rush of GCHQ employees leaving work. She had just enough time to catch the earlier train, which suited her. She didn't want to risk running into anyone she knew on the platform. She needed time to think about what she'd just seen. Guy Callas was an asset, and yet he was also in Interrogation One pretending to be a local hood. No wonder he was holding up so well. He'd had training. If Six were involved, and they surely were, then the grid security was also compromised. No wonder Harry had been so cagey with Mace. She longed to phone him and tell him what he'd found, but she didn't dare. She'd just have to rely on train to get her there.

She looked around to make sure she wasn't followed. The platform was empty. The train was half full, mostly with teenagers heading into town after school. There was a mother with a pram and a couple of old ladies with wheely shopping carts. Ruth chose a seat where she could see all the entrances to the train car without to much movement of her

head. She sat down and cautiously pulled the files from her case.

###


	11. Chapter 11

Ruth had read both files several times before the train made its first scheduled stop in Oxford. A lot more people got on, mostly students. The mother got off with her pram. Ruth rummaged through her briefcase for a magazine to read. She still had more than an hour to go till she reached Paddington. She tried taking Harry's advice. She was just a tired bureaucrat returning from an errand. What did she have to be nervous about? Despite her best efforts to get in character, she was truly relieved when her phone rang. Despite the security risk, she just wanted to hear Harry's voice. But it wasn't Harry. She didn't recognize the number and it didn't come up on her i.d.

"Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Everly?" It was Gina Halford. Ruth recognized the false name she'd given.

"Miss Halford. What can I do for you?"

"I, well, I just wondered if you had a chance to look into what happened to Guy. He's still not out yet. I'm worried."

"So sorry, I've been running non-stop all day. If you want to hang up, I'll make a quick call and get back to you."

"No, wait. I don't know. It's just. Well, I did something you won't be pleased about and now I'm scared is all."

"What's happened? You sound terrified."

"I went back to the club. Just to ask the bartender if he'd seen Guy, but he hadn't. There was this geezer there. He was one Guy's mates that I uh, partied with a few weeks back. He wanted to go back to Guy's flat with me. I said, no, Guy wasn't around but he said we could go somewhere else. He was really insistent. Finally, I told him "get off me" in a loud voice and Bill, that's the bouncer, he came over and got rid of him. I thought the creep was gone but when I left the club, I think he followed me. I'm at home, but I think he might be outside."

"Calm down, Gina. Are your doors and windows locked? Your shades drawn?"

"Yeah, course."

Ruth realized that this wasn't a conversation she should be making in public on a train. She got up and moved to the bathroom and locked herself in.

"I want you to describe the man to me Gina, because I'm going to send a friend over to help you."

"A social worker?"

"Something like that."

"He's American. Blonde, green eyes, flat top haircut. About 5 foot 10. Very fit."

"Do you remember a name?"

"I think it was Mike. I don't know any more than that. His mates were called Ronnie, he was from London and the other one was older, American and called himself Scooter. He talked like John Wayne."

Ruth's blood ran cold. There could be only one middle-aged American in London who called himself "Scooter:" Libby "Scooter" McCall, liason for the CIA in London. McCall was a born-again Christian and if word got out he was partying with hookers and drugs he'd be ruined. It was information worth a fortune to any newspaper in the country and probably worth killing for.

"Listen very carefully, Gina. Get down on the floor right now. If you can turn off the lights without exposing yourself to the window, do it. Otherwise, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees into the bathroom and get in the bathtub."

Ruth heard the sounds of Gina crawling and then heard the distinctly echoey noises of a bathroom as she made her way into the tub. Then Ruth heard a crash, the sound of splintered wood, a scream and two silenced bullets hitting their mark. Ruth hung up. She stood shaking in the bathroom, breathing hard in a panic.

"Attention all passengers. We are making an unscheduled stop for repairs to the rails at Uxbridge station. We apologize for any delay and once again would like to thank you for riding Great Western Rail."

Ruth took the sim card out of her phone and flushed it down the toilet. She had to assume that Gina's call was traced. The bathroom door rattled.

**[Sorry for the lack of H/R fluff/smut, but sometimes you have to have a plot. More fluff soon, I promise!]**


	12. Chapter 12

Ruth walked swiftly through Uxbridge station, forcing herself not to look back. She propped her now-empty briefcase against a railing and looped back across the station to an information desk.

"I'd like to report a suspicious bag," she said trying to keep the agitation out of her voice. A brown leather briefcase leaning against the railing on the West bound platform. It's been sitting there unattended for fifteen minutes."

The young woman behind the desk looked alarmed. Ruth could tell she'd never dealt with anything half so exciting before. She took the opportunity to sweep the station casually with her eyes. There was a man in a black jacket and dark glasses trying to look inconspicuous reading the newspaper. The young woman behind the desk disappeared for a moment behind a door. A few moments later a large garage door at the far end of the station opened. A small bomb disposal truck moved slowly across the platform. A crowd formed. The man with the newspaper was gone. Ruth grabbed the phone on the information desk, dialed "9" and then rang Harry's desk phone.

"Pearce, here."

"Your umbrella is in Scarlet's house."

"What?"

"Repeat. Your umbrella is in Scarlet's house."

"Affirmative," Harry said, sounding puzzled.

Ruth hung up and headed for the taxi rank. As she rounded the corner, near the main door to the station, she was suddenly grabbed from behind. A gloved hand gripped her face and blocked any possibility of a scream. Ruth untucked Harry's umbrella from under her arm and drove it as hard as she could into the solar plexis of her attacker. She was released as the man stood back gasping for breath. She flipped the umbrella over and drove the pointed end into his right eye socket. The man fell to the ground. She had been right. One could do a lot of damage with just an umbrella.

She made it to the taxi rank and jumped in the cab furthest from the station door.

"Slough Greyhound Stadium. And please hurry."

"You've missed the last race, miss."

"I'm meeting a friend. I'm running very late."

The driver pulled out onto the motorway and then stopped dead in traffic. Harry would be having the same difficulty, providing he understood her oblique message. The adrenaline which had poured through her system made her drum her fingers nervously on her lap. She looked round, behind the cab. There was no way to tell whether they were being followed. All was gridlock, fore and aft.

"Could you come off at the first exit and take local streets."

"Miss it'll take three times as long. Your fare will be tripled."

"I know. I'll pay. Don't worry. May I look at your A-Z?" she asked.

Terror had made her bold. Better to ask a stranger to borrow their first born than touch their A-Z.

"Suit yourself."

As the cab pulled off onto an exit ramp, Ruth lowered herself in the seat so that her face couldn't be seen. After a few moments, she drew up the courage to look behind. There were a few cars behind: one, a red VW polo with an old lady behind the wheel, the other, a black sedan. The taxi driver got to the round-about.

"Get into the middle of the round-about and keep going round till I say, stop."

"Miss, what gives you the-"

"Just do it. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

The cab circled the center of the roundabout until Ruth was satisfied that the black sedan had gone off one direction or another. No matter, they'd be out front which is where Ruth wanted them.

"Now, pick the first exit. I don't care which direction, just drive."

The driver obeyed. Ruth looked up the road in the A-Z and found they were moving in the opposite direction to the dog track.

"Should I double back, miss?"

"Not yet. Continue on till I tell you different.

Several laps round the greater Slough area and Ruth's meter was nearing 90 pounds. Finally satisfied that they weren't being tailed, Ruth had the driver pull into the dogtrack. Including the emergency 20 she kept in her rain coat, Ruth had less than 70 pounds. She hoped Harry had brought his wallet.

"You don't take cards by any chance, do you?"

"What is this? I thought it was supposed to be worth my while. Miss, if you stiff me, I'm out three fares at least. I've got a wife and kids to support."

"It's alright. My friend. He can pay." I hope, Ruth thought.

There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. Ruth made the driver slowly circle round. They were all empty. She began counting out money for the driver when she saw a white sedan come into the parking lot. It didn't look like Harry. Maybe he sent someone. She strained her eyes in the growing gloom. The sedan pulled up alongside the cab. Ruth panicked and began thinking of an escape route when she saw Harry Pearce get out of the car and walk over. The cabbie rolled down the window and Harry handed him a wad of notes. Ruth leaped from the car and grabbed Harry and hugged him. She kissed his cheek. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.

"Thank God it's you."

"It's alright. I'm here," he whispered, kissing her tear-stained cheek, gently.

"I wasn't sure you'd understand my message."

"I didn't at first, but then it made perfect sense. My umbrella was with you and Scarlet is my dog. The dog track. Brilliant, simple and to the point."

They moved toward the car. Ruth stopped and stared at it.

"Harry what is this?"

"It's a Ford Mondeo, Ruth. Most popular commuting car in Great Britain."

"Thanks for that, Jeremy Clarkson. But where did it come from?"

"Daggenham probably. But most recently, from a rental shop at the

airport. I couldn't risk a fleet vehicle. Not with half of Six following."

"So it is them."

"We're not out of this yet. Best get in the car. We need to get back on the grid, right away. Tell me everything."

As they drove toward London, Harry checked the mirrors frequently. Satisfied that they'd at last ditched their pursuers, he relaxed. Ruth told him the whole story of her trip. After he told her about Gina, she was quiet.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to send anyone round there now?"

"We'll do it as a matter of course, but the CIA is unlikely to leave evidence behind. The body will turn up in one of the usual places weeks from now. I'm sorry, Ruth. I blame myself. I sent you out on two dangerous operations today with no back-up, no wire, no support and almost no training. You're only alive right now because you have far more talent as a field agent then you ever thought possible. If I weren't so angry at my own stupidity I'd be busting with pride."

Ruth blushed in the dark of the car.

"Harry, don't be so hard on yourself. You weren't to know."

"But I suspected. After lunch, Fiona confirmed that she'd been followed from the Aunt's house. That started to make me crazy. I mean, who, besides us, would want anything from her?"

"Did the visit with the aunt turn up anything interesting."

"Yes. Sounds like Albert Callas hasn't exactly been living a quiet life. He's been sending postcards from all over the Middle East in the past year."

"He has his own security consulting business. Guy has only come on board in

the past few weeks. Which is why Adam and Fiona didn't recognize him."

"I've been thinking about that. I think Callas was picked specifically to waste our time and especially Adam's. Knowing Adam is our interrogation expert and knowing that he'd be familiar with anyone who's been even remotely connected with the security services in the past."

"The question is, Harry, what does this have to do with the CIA and Gina? I can see McCall wanting to cover his indiscretions, but it can't just be coincidence."

"No. And I don't think we're going to get a damn thing out of her boyfriend. Not directly."

Harry parked the car a few blocks from Themes house.

"We should enter the grid separately, but I'm not letting you out of my sight again. I'm too spooked, if you'll forgive the turn of phrase."

They made their way quickly, walking with Ruth's arm linked under Harry's. His hand covered hers and she felt, despite the day's events that nothing bad could happen as long as they stayed like that.

Ruth entered the pods. Malcolm rushed up and offered her a cup of hot tea. Before she answered he leaned in and asked if she was alright. He'd seen her signal drop off their scans at Uxbridge. Harry had also order a bug sweep. Ruth declared herself fine. She didn't know how much Harry wanted her to say. At any rate there would be a briefing and he would find out soon enough. She accepted his offer of tea and went to her desk and began to search the records on "Maginot Consultancy" to find out what exactly Albert Callas did for a living. Fiona perched herself on the edge of her desk.

"Long day?"

"The longest. It's not over yet."

"Haven't seen Harry, have you?"

"Not lately. I assumed he was in his office."

"Nope. Went out to his club hours ago."

"Well, that's where he is then. He has to meet with that Winslow woman in a few minutes. He'll be back."

"You're a marvel, Ruth. The way you keep Harry's schedule in your head like that."

"Nothing marvelous about it. Takes up a lot of useful space that could be spent on pub trivia."

The pods hissed. Harry was back. Ruth willed herself not to look up. Fiona studied her and then studied Harry before sauntering back to her desk with a satisfied look on her face.

"Find your umbrella, boss?"

"Right where I left it," Harry said with a smile and walked into his office.


	13. Chapter 13

Ruth's head was splitting. Her stomach growled. Catherine Winslow had left the grid half an hour prior. Adam and Fiona had gone home. There was nothing in the computer on Maginot Consultancy. Even Malcolm had given up on a briefing and was toying with the idea going home.

Ruth got up and walked into Harry's office. She didn't knock.

"You're going to have to stop doing that. One of these days, you may see something you don't want to see."

"Who's to say I don't want to see it?" Ruth said with a smile. Harry put his index finger to his lips, briefly. Ruth looked at him quizzically. He flipped open a cell phone and pressed a few keys.

"It's clear but we only have a few moments. Malcolm created a pulse which acts like normal background. It is distorting the bug he found in my office."

"Forgive me, Harry, but when the hell are you going to brief the team?"

"I'm not. Our security is compromised. For now, we carry on as if nothing has happened. We let them make the next move and hope they slip up."

"You're saying you don't trust Adam and Fiona? Danny? For God's sake, Harry."

"Of course, I trust them all. The Carters have just come over from Six. We don't know who knows them. They are vulnerable and they have a child. We keep them out of this until we know what we're dealing with. Danny is needed to continue the interrogation."

"Continue? Harry, he's not going to get anywhere with Callas."

"I know and that's exactly the impression we need to keep giving to whomever put this bug in my office. We need to look as if we're still just after a local thug who has access to a dirty bomb."

"Just a dirty bomb? Surely that's enough. Harry, what's happening?"

"Catherine Winslow was just here. She told me that Callas and his father work together in their security company. Ruth, they specialize in torture. Extraordinary rendition is their stock and trade. They move around with mobile units all over the Middle East. She has a file on Albert Callas two inches thick. Interpol have been waiting till they could get him back on EU soil to send them both to the Hague on war crimes charges."

"You're saying Callas is a professional torturer? And we've been trying to break him with our little mind games and laxitives?"

"The irony is not lost on me, Ruth," Harry said with a slight purse of the lips. "Right. Now on to more important things. Dinner and a drink?"

"Now?"

"Just across the road in the George. It's going to be a long night. Best fortify ourselves."

###

The George was noisy and crowded. Ruth sat at a small table in the corner, while Harry got in some drinks and menus. Suddenly the desire to eat and sleep had vanished. The adrenaline buzz was back. What was Harry playing at? It was wonderful that he suddenly couldn't move two steps without her, but she was terrified that he was still having his cake and eating it too.

Harry deposited the drinks and sat opposite her. He smiled, genuinely enough. Ruth smiled back.

"Chin, chin," he said and they clinked glasses.

"It's just orange juice, Harry. That glass of port at lunch wiped me out After this afternoon, I feel like I can't afford to loose my edge even for a second."

Harry sipped at his Scotch.

"You get used to it. After a while, the adrenaline becomes like an old friend."

Harry pulled out his phone.

"Battery's dead. I'm just going to go use that pay phone. Will you excuse me?"

"Of course, Ruth said. "Only tell me what you want to eat first, so I can order."

"The burgers are quite good."

Ruth went to the bar and ordered a couple of burgers. She glanced over at Harry on the pay phone. He hung up and moved back to the table.

"Can I have a vodka, as well. Straight and another Scotch for my friend," Ruth said to the barman.

The drinks arrived and Ruth brought them back to the table.

"Chin-chin, Harry," she said with a smile.

Harry smiled in return as Ruth downed her vodka in one gulp. She followed it with a sip of orange juice. It suddenly tasted very sweet.

"Vodka. That's interesting. I would have had you pegged as a white wine sort of girl."

"Well, today, I maimed a man with your umbrella. I think that calls for something a bit stronger."

"Fair enough," Harry said. Their burgers arrived. They ate quickly, mostly in silence. Ruth really was famished, afterall.

"That really was good," she said toying with the last chip on her plate.

"Hunger is the best spice, they say."

"The company helps as well," she said. The vodka was making her feel all warm and fuzzy again.

"Indeed," he said and reached across the table and took her hand. He pulled her close, under his arm and whispered in her ear, "thanks to you and the information you got from Gina this morning, I was able to pull some strings. Gina's mates are being rounded up in Shoreditch and brought back to Themes House. They should be arriving any minute. I'm going to kiss you now, Ruth. They're watching us. But it's not just that. I've wanted to kiss you since the first moment I saw you."

Ruth felt dizzy. It wasn't just the drink. She looked into Harry's eyes. He was sincere. He reached across and touched her hair, brushing it to the side. Ruth leaned in. Their lips touched and everything fell away for a moment. She felt her stomach drop. It was the sensation of tumbling from a great height. No wonder they call if "falling in love," she thought.

Harry broke the kiss. "Well, it's a start anyway," he whispered. "It will have to do for now."

Ruth sat back in her chair. Her heart was pounding. She toyed with her orange juice glass. She'd never enjoyed being teased before. She knew, a few more of those kisses and she'd be counting ceiling tiles no matter who was watching.

"Back to work, then?" Harry said and stood. He offered her his hand and she followed. He whisked her across the street, his arm extended over her shoulders, once again, that warmth and power extending into her body. Whatever this dream was, she thought, she didn't want to wake up.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry took off his coat and removed his waistcoat. He was unbuttoning his shirt, when, once again, Ruth entered without knocking.

She blushed. He looked exactly as he had in her dream. So many buttons. Her heart had only just regulated itself from their kiss. She wanted so badly to push him against the wall and tear the rest of his clothes off. She hoped this wasn't written on her face, but she couldn't bring herself to stop staring.

"Sorry. I really do need to learn to knock," she eventually offered.

Harry carried on undressing without saying anything. Ruth turned around suddenly a bit shocked that he was continuing to strip in front of her. She did peak once as he putting his head through a polo neck. He'd removed his t-shirt. His chest was bare and broad. He was surprisingly fit. Something about the way he dressed and carried himself, she'd imagined him to be a bit more teddybearish. She wanted him no matter what he looked like out of a suit of course, but now she was nearly overcome with a feeling of lust. She bit her lip and tried to focus on work.

"H-Harry, I did what you asked. Danny is ready for us."

"Good work." he said. He grabbed a tweed coat that was hanging on his coat rack behind the door. He pulled out his reading spectacle, pince nez glasses on a chain, and put them on. It was amazing what the addition of a pair of glasses, a cashmere jumper and a blazer could do to change his appearance. He suddenly looked prosperous, middle-aged and nonthreatening. He was Paddington Bear.

As they walked across the grid, Harry's driver passed them with two overnight bags. Ruth thought she recognized one of them. She had one just like it at home.

Ruth stepped into Interrogation One. The thing she hadn't been prepared for was the smell: the sweat, the feces, and a strange chemical under-note that she couldn't identify. Danny left with only the slightest nod to Harry.

"Mr. Callas, my name is Sir Robert Morton. I'm with the organisation, Human Rights League. This is my associate, Ms. Catherine Winslow. We are going to be debriefing you before you are released.

Ruth swallowed hard. Harry was taking a risk. What if Callas knew what Sir Robert looked like?

Ruth didn't know why, but she suddenly reached across and put her hand on Callas' as she'd done in the prison with Gina. She forced a look of pity to come across her face. His pulse was calm. He pretended to be grateful for the gesture.

"We only want to ask a few routine questions about your treatment," she asked.

Harry began with the form and Callas answered questions perfunctorily with no emotion in his voice. Ruth studied him for any sign of triumph or smugness. He was very good at burying it, she thought. Well, he was MI-6.

"We're done here, Mr. Callas. It appears MI-5 have stayed within their permit. If you have nothing to add, it seems you have no further need of our aid. I'll ring for someone to bring you some food and some clean clothes."

Harry stood up and walked outside, leaving Ruth momentarily alone with Callas.

"Pathetic," he said with a sneer.

"Excuse me?"

"This lot. They expect to ever get any information like this. It's a joke. Why even bother."

"I'm not sure I understand," Ruth said.

"You come here all concerned about my rights. For all you know I'm a terrorist sitting on a dirty bomb. You want to hold hands with me? Disgusting. Why stop with terrorists? Why not just release all the murderers and rapists as well? Give them a tea party."

Harry returned to the room. Callas halted his tirade. He continued to sneer, though.

"Through here," Harry gestured and Callas moved through the door. They moved through the corridors past several CCT cameras. Once they'd past the last camera, Harry pulled out a pistol and stuck it roughly into Callas' face. Harry pulled Callas' head backward by the hair and put a black fabric bag over his head.

"We're going for a ride in a van," Harry said. "It's a new mobile unit which we borrowed from MI-6, built by a French firm called Maginot Security. Lovely thing. We can drive around all night and no will know where you are, Mr. Callas. We have some wonderful new toys available to us now."

Under the bag, Callas began to scream. When he stopped, Harry leaned in close, "The irony, Mr. Callas, is not lost on any of us," he whispered.

He pushed Callas forward and put restraints on his wrists. Harry's driver drove up in a fleet Land Rover with dark tinted windows in back. There was no mobile torture unit, of course-just an SUV with the seats pushed back. Ruth got in the middle row behind the driver. Harry was in back, kneeling over Callas with the gun pressed against the man's head.

"Now, Mr. Callas. We thought it was only fair we came clean. We have your girlfriends. Well, three of them, anyway. McCall got to one of them. Gina, was it? How long do you think it's going to be before one of them tells us who their other clients are. And those people are not going to be pleased when they find out from us that you offered their names to us. We're just going to drop a few photos on some doorsteps in the morning-pictures of you in our interrogation room and doctored photos with your girlfriends and their clients. When they think you've turned on them, you're going to be begging me to take you to the Hague. Every security services officer you've ever entertained in your dirty little flat is going to want your head on a plate.

Callas started to cry. "What is it you want from me?" he said at length.

"I'd like you to start talking about something your father uncovered in one of your little fun houses in Pakistan. Some weapons grade uranium that is now unaccounted for and according to Catherine Winslow, the REAL Catherine Winslow, is in the hands of the CIA and certain rogue members of our sister service."

"I want protection and a guarantee that my father will be allowed to return to France."

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm not a patient man. Let's see what sort of toys we have here. I believe it's customary to start with electricity to the genitals."

"Alright. What is it you want to know?"

"Well, we are co-operative. I suppose you've seen the effect of this sort of thing, first-hand. I would simply like to know where the uranium is and what is does this group plan to do with it."

"Is that all? Why not ask me the codes for the Russian nuclear arsenal while we're at it. I don't have that information."

"No, but your father does."

"So you want me to just ring him up and ask him? He'll be suspicious. He'll never tell me."

"That's why you are going to meet him in person, while wearing a wire.

But first, Mr. Callas, we need to know where your father is so that we can have this little rendezvous."

Harry pulled out a tazer from his jacket. He turned it on. It hummed with electricity.

"Baghdad. My father is in Baghdad."

Harry pulled the bag off of Callas' head.

"Hey, what do you know? No mobile torture unit. Just a common garden Land Rover."

Callas looked around, surprised. He hung his head. He'd been played.

"I'm going to release you soon, Guy. Because I know you won't run. You don't have anyone to run to right now. We offer your best hope of getting out of this mess alive. You'll meet with McCall and tell him nothing of this little trip round the Thames House car park that you've made tonight. As far as he'll know, we cut you lose without getting anything from you. You won't be wearing a wire, so if you get into trouble there'll be no one there to help you. So my advice is, don't get into trouble. After you meet with McCall, you will go to Gatwick Airport and buy a ticket to Baghdad. You leave on the evening flight tomorrow. If you disobey in any way, those letters that I mentioned will go out without delay."

Harry's driver finished circling the parking garage and they arrived back at the same door they'd left a few minutes earlier. Harry cut Callas' bonds and the beaten man walked numbly back into Thames House. He was shown to a room where he could clean up and change clothes. He left without a word to anyone.

"Can we trust him?" Ruth asked as they walked to Harry's office.

"No, but we can trust that he is going to serve himself, first."

Harry stopped in his office and he picked up the two small overnight bags that Ruth had seen his driver carrying earlier. He handed one to her. It was her bag.

"Shall we?" he asked and took her by the arm and led her through the revolving doors.

"Harry, where are we going?" Ruth asked when they were out on the street.

"Tomorrow we're going to see the Prime Minister of Great Britain and with any luck we'll be in Baghdad the following morning. But tonight we're going to Claridge's Hotel."

"Oh, is that all." Ruth said.

"Yes, that's all." Harry said and he stopped and dropped his bag. He swung Ruth around and into a kiss. Ruth felt her legs collapse like a folding chair that had been pushed the wrong way. Harry caught her weight in his arms and held her close.

He was well aware that this was going against every honest thing he'd wanted for them. The simple date he was going to ask her on seemed so far away. And it didn't seem like him anyway. He was a spook and he was a man but there was no line of separation between those two things. He was kidding himself if he thought he could keep those two halves of himself apart. He loved Ruth. He was pretty sure she loved him. Why not just get on with it? At least that's what he'd rationalized ever since Ruth had kissed him in that dog track parking lot. It was understood between them that though the outward appearance was a lie for the benefit of those who were following, the thing that was happening between them was real.


	15. Chapter 15

Note: This is the final chapter in this story. The plot will continue in a new multi-chapter fic, What Happens in Baghdad. This chapter is rate M for smut. Yee haw.

Ruth stood in a room in Claridge's Hotel and couldn't quite believe she was there. She studied her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Was she the sort of person that would have a clandestine affair with her boss in a posh hotel? She wore sensible shoes and she always had a wash and go haircut. She owned no under garments that could be described as "lingerie." And yet, there she was, looking at her face in the mirror. The bed loomed in the background. She'd never done anything like this in her life. She assumed with a slight pang, that Harry had, many times. She pushed that thought out of her mind. She wanted this to happen.

Her dream on the train and the scene she'd witnessed in the land rover mingled in her mind. She was repulsed by her own attraction. She had allowed herself to rationalize that the dream had been merely symbolic caused by the suspense of the situation: waiting was torture. It was difficult to maintain this fragile construct when the man was waving a taser around right before her eyes. This whole exhausting day with its adrenaline rushes and romantic flourishes had left her with conflicting ideas. Harry was safety. Harry was dangerous. Harry was a sweet and gentle lover. Harry was a bully who could break you with a few deft moves and a few twisted ideas. Harry was one thing for sure, though; he was right that no one got out of interrogation with a clean conscious.

She set her overnight bag down on the dresser and opened it, examining the contents for the first time. The blouse was one she never wore because it didn't quite fit right and the skirt was the wrong length for her shoes. She would have to make do.

"That's the last time I let your chauffer do my packing," she said, still studying the case. It made her less nervous to have something to focus on.

Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her neck and purred into her ear.

"Are you OK with this?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Ruth didn't respond right away. She was enjoying Harry's breath on her neck and anyway, she didn't really know whether she was OK with it or not.

"Ruth, if it makes any difference, we don't have to…to jump into bed. We can just talk." he said.

"We've been doing nothing but talk for almost two years. The circumstances aren't ideal, but it's where I want to be, Harry."

Again, the adrenaline struck and, as she had when she broke free of her attacker, she went on the offensive. She turned, grabbed Harry Pearce and rammed her tongue down his throat. She had to act fast. Something could happen. Harry's phone could ring. The fire alarm could go. She could come to her senses.

Ruth pushed Harry's top coat to the floor. She moved her hands under his tweed Human Right's barrister jacket and knocked it to the floor as well. Her hands roved up and down his chest over his soft sweater. She wanted to tell him how beautiful she thought he was with his shirt off, but that could wait till later. He was working on her blouse, fumbling a bit. So many buttons. She ached everywhere. Her nipples were on fire. She wondered if this was what teenage boys felt like when they told you they were going to die if they didn't get off with you.

She pushed him down onto the bed. There was more struggling and more clothing was removed. At last they were skin to skin, Ruth on top, her hand holding Harry's hard cock. The burning sensation in her breast spread to everywhere they touched one another. His hands roamed around her body. They glanced off her inner thigh and she moaned. She dropped his cock and grabbed his hand and directed it inside her.

"Oh God, Ruth, you feel so good," he said and he slid two fingers with ease into the wet opening. She writhed on top of him as he moved his thumb across the top of clitoris.

She moved her hands back to his cock and held it tightly at the base, stroking with the other hand in irregular motions. He groaned and his breath came faster. He pulled his hand out of her and she straddled him. She pulled herself over him taking a brief moment to make eye contact with him. He had a marvelous expression on his face-a mixture of surprise and excitement with just a hint of gratitude. She slid his cock inside her and felt her stomach drop away as she had when he first kissed her. She wanted to go slow, but that probably wasn't going to happen.

A few minutes later Ruth panted, "Harry, "I'm going to come," as she moved frantically against him. His eyes were clamped shut. Satiated, she slowed and changed her position, pushing him deep inside her, releasing all her grip on him. "Oh, God, Oh God," he said and Ruth pulled up quickly, grabbing the base of his cock as he shot his load on to her stomach. She collapsed on top of his chest, feeling the wet pool, spread between them. They kissed until her face and jaw were sore.

They fell into deep and dreamless sleep. Ruth awoke to traffic noise and the bright light of morning. Harry was still there beneath her, literally, glued to her. Her neck was cramped and she imagined his arm was numb where she'd slept on it all night. It wasn't a dream to dissolve away. She smiled and bit Harry's chest playfully, gently.

"Good morning, you," he said.

"Good morning. I wanted to tell you how lovely you are."

Harry laughed.

"Strange and beautiful girl. You're full of surprises. I had this whole grand seduction planned and you-"

"Jumped your bones? Had my way with you?"

"I was going to find a more diplomatic way of putting it, but, yes."

"Maybe it was all that adrenaline. It does crazy things. One minute I can't look at food and the next I'm famished."

"I know what you mean. When I put you on that train yesterday, I was determined that I was going to ask you out on a proper date; start from the beginning like real people. I was going to state my intentions in a straight-forward and honorable fashion."

"And what are your intentions?"

"Well, this," Harry said and kissed her. He rolled over on top of her and she shifted under his weight, enjoying the sensation. The hotel phone rang.

"That will be our wake-up call," Harry said.

###

Across the street from Claridge' Hotel, Oliver Mace walked out of a café carrying a cardboard tray full of styrofoam cups and a bag of croissants. He turned the corner and walked up an alley, stopping at a black van. Mace tapped on the back door and they opened up.

"Breakfast is served, gentlemen. Now what have you got for me?"

The grateful crew took the food and handed Mace a stack of still photos of Harry and Ruth in their hotel room.

"Nothing about the op. They didn't do much talking, anyway. One thing is confirmed for sure, though. Pearce's affair with Ruth Evershed is no smoke screen. "

The End

As I said at the note in the beginning, you can pick up the story in my new fic, "What Happens in Baghdad."


End file.
